


Broken

by RZZMG



Series: Hermione x Draco x Harry stories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Hermione, Auror Harry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, Harry to the Rescue, Horcrux Influence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Rentboy Draco, Sexual Slavery, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3668616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RZZMG/pseuds/RZZMG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a personal holiday in Rome, Harry runs into Draco Malfoy living in the last place on earth he'd ever expected to see the wizard again: working in a brothel in Rome. The Malfoy heir had unexpectedly disappeared the year after the war, and everyone assumed something nefarious had happened to him. Oh, how right they were… The story he has to tell Harry seems impossible, and yet there's too much in it that smacks of truth, especially concerning Hermione and her uncharacteristic retreat from society after the war.</p><p>Can a person come back from being so broken that they're hardly recognisable as the person they once were? Harry's determined to try with his abused best friend, Hermione, and her ex-lover, Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AS OF 2014: THIS STORY IS ON-HOLD.
> 
> THIS IS A DARK FIC, THAT DELVES INTO TRAGIC AND HORRIBLE PHYSICAL & SEXUAL ABUSE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

* * *

 

 

For the first time in years, my heart had started beating again in my chest. At least, that's how it had felt the moment I'd spied Draco Malfoy staring at me through the front window of a building that I'd happened to be passing in a neighbourhood that had a reputation for its unsavoury elements.

Initially, I'd thought my imagination had run away with me, as when I stopped and looked twice, there was no one there. Yet, the curtain swaying indicating someone  _had_  just been standing there, and that had been enough of an incentive to force my feet towards the door and my hand to turn the knob of the establishment that had no sign to indicate its name.

Draco had obviously moved from the window and thrown himself down on one of the ratty couches in the room, because that's where he was sprawled when I'd walked through the door and set eyes upon him for the first time in almost a dozen years. He'd jumped to his feet the instant he'd recognized me, his face sheeting white, and a strange, fleeting hope passing over his handsome features.

Then he'd shut down. Between one blink and the next, his expression had gone carefully neutral, as if he hadn't just received one of the biggest shocks of his adult life. He'd folded his arms, and turned his focus to somewhere over my left shoulder, refusing to meet my eye. In fact, he'd seemed almost bored with the proceedings, uncaring that he'd been both found and found  _out_  at the same time.

This was how we found ourselves now.

I could feel the tension radiate between us. I watched my old rival squirm under my inspection and was honest enough to admit that I took a bit of perverse delight in that fact. He'd certainly made me feel awkward and anxious more than once back in our youth, so turning the tables now was a twisted sort of kismet that sat well with me.

"So," I spoke up, breaking the tense, awkward silence between us, "you work here, then?"

Malfoy responded to my dry attempt at humour with a roll of his eyes and a sharp  _tsk_. His tone was sarcastic and biting when he countered, "No, I just happened by the place. Thought I'd pop in and ask to use their loo. Colour me surprised when they were generous enough to let me." His gaze travelled over me from head to toe. "What about you? Come to chase a little 'boy meat', have you? I always suspected you tweaked that way, you know."

The fact that he hadn't yet referred to me by family name - with his trademark, sneering emphasis on the first syllable, as if he were likening me to a well-used bedpan - kicked my intuition hard in the bum. Something was wrong. The Malfoy I knew would never have passed up a chance to let the world know he was happily insulting me.

"Actually, I saw you through the window and thought-"

"You thought you'd check up on the bad boy of Hogwarts and make sure he wasn't attempting to resurrect a Dark Lord or something equally as asinine," he interrupted. His backtalk was rife with mocking sarcasm, and the dark smirk that crept up his cheek matched. "Saint Scarhead to the rescue... again."

I roll-tapped my fingers against the outside of my leg in irritation and clicked my tongue. "Hell, you haven't changed a bit, have you? Well-" I let my eyes wander his body again, noting the black, mesh half-tank that showed off a small, almost girlish torso that was completely in contradiction to the rather large bulge tucked into the tight leather shorts he wore. "-except for this. That's a new look for you, isn't it?"

His fists clenched as he crossed his arms over his chest. "What the fuck do you want?"

I tweaked an eyebrow at that. "To wring your scrawny neck," I stated very honestly, and lowered my voice, whispering to him in an angry hiss. "Bloody hell, Malfoy, is this where you've been all this time - in Rome? No one's seen or heard a peep from you since the middle of your eighth year back at Hogwarts. You just up and disappeared before graduation, and everyone thought you'd been murdered by some pure-blood fanatics out for revenge or that you'd gone off alone to commit suicide. Hell, I've been searching for you for years, you git!" I huffed with anger. "By pure chance, I just happened to see you tonight while walking by on the street outside. You, here of all places! That's why I came in. I wanted to make sure you weren't being forced to do" –I waved a hand up and down at his barely-there costume- "this. Or worse."

Draco's jaw clenched. "I'm fine. Now beat feet."

I narrowed my eyes and really looked at him then. Years of interrogations in my line of work allowed me to note small details in a suspect's face or in their body language. Right now, Malfoy was lying to me. It was obvious by the way his pupils flared and the sheen of sweat dampening the top of his lip and in the way he'd occasionally look off to the side, as if checking out something behind me. I had a feeling he was looking at the floor-to-ceiling length mirror that had been mounted to the wall here in the lobby. Was it a two-way? Was someone he feared behind it, listening in on our conversation? Was that the reason for his clipped words and his rigid stance, and for trying to push me out the door as fast as possible? If so, that meant he wasn't safe.

I had to do something.

I'd been in brothels and rentboy cages before while undercover on sting investigations for work. Such places tended to be a favourite haven for practitioners of dark magic, so I knew the score. "If you say so," I drawled, "then I've got to respect that you're here of your own free will. I won't give details, but I'll let your parents know you're fine so they can stop worrying."

He flinched with guilt, which was the signal I'd been hoping to see, as it meant he didn't like his current circumstances, but felt trapped in them for some reason. Clearly, he wasn't living this lifestyle out of spite, but out of either necessity or under duress.

Good. That meant I could take him out of here without worrying about his returning on his own later.

"Right, so..." I made a show of looking nervous, stretching my shirt collar away from my neck and rubbing a hand through my hair. "Um, in that case, I take it that you're, well,  _available._  So, how much?"

Malfoy's arms dropped to his sides and he stood up straighter, his eyes practically bulging in astonishment. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but it seemed words escaped him. I forcibly kept in character, despite wanting to laugh. I'd finally zinged this prat first, rather than end up on the receiving end of one of his cutting jibes. The revenge felt good, if not a bit childish.

"For fuck's sake, Draco, I've just come from  _Il Diavolo Dentro_  down the block," I stated, trying to sound annoyed at having to explain myself. I wasn't lying about that; in my desperation, I really had been there, hoping to pull, but deciding at the last minute not to follow through. He didn't need to know that, though. "Everyone knows what goes on there. Put two and two together, would you?"

He blinked several times. "You're fucking with me," he replied, seeming confused.

"I will be, if you're up for it," I offered, trying to appear serious.

My old rival looked extremely doubtful and positively wary. "Five-hundred Euros," he stated.

It was an obvious call to make me scoff and walk out. I didn't even flinch. "That'll buy me the whole night with you?" I asked, fishing for my wallet in my back pocket.

He nodded, swallowing hard as I flipped through and pulled out five, crisp hundred Euro bills.

"Give it to her," he bid, indicating a rather rotund, older woman sitting in a chair in the corner.

I walked over and passed the money off to the matron. It disappeared very quickly down the front of her rather hefty bodice. Well, there went my entire holiday spending money! Shite.

I'd better get reimbursed for this by the department, since I officially considered myself on the clock as of that minute.

The crone gave me a narrowed-eye stare as if she could sniff I was disingenuous in my interest in a night's entertainment from her establishment, but said nothing. Perhaps a bit unwisely, I turned my back on her. I was careful to stretch out my senses as I walked away from her, though, checking for that telltale gathering of magical energies that always prickled the nape of my neck just before an attack came, but I felt nothing to indicate that the woman might be preparing to draw on me just then. Still, I fingered the tip of my wand as I let it fall from its hidden spot inside my shirtsleeve. I'd learned early on in this job that an indolent pose and a deceptively lazy expression were two things you should always be on guard against.

To my relief, I made it back to Draco's side without incident, assuming I'd passed whatever test I'd needed to get into the house. Thank Godric my bangs had grown out and I wasn't wearing my spectacles just then. With the scar covered, and my recognizable rounded glasses nowhere in sight, I most likely had fooled whoever had been staring at us behind the mirror. Until I could get the whole scoop from Draco about who owned this place and how well it was manned, it was better to err on the side of caution when walking into a viper's pit such as this one.

"Lead on," I instructed him, nudging my chin towards the beaded curtain that led deeper into the house, where I assumed his room would be.

As soon as we were closeted away, I'd find out from my rentboy how exactly he'd come to be here, and figure out how to get him out of this place and past the Anti-Apparition wards that surrounded the building. Malfoy was coming home to Britain if I had to drag him there kicking and screaming.


	2. Chapter 2

When we got to his room, Malfoy locked the door behind me. I took several steps in, looking around and was appalled by the conditions he lived in.

The first thing that struck me was the smell. The pungent odour of sex, leather, and sweat perfumed the walls. Overlaying it all was an attempt to freshen the air with some fake, chemical spray that was designed to remind a person of newly picked, blooming flowers but instead came off as too sweet, almost cloying.

The lone window in the room was opened a crack at the bottom, thank Merlin, but there was no active breeze to push the air around, so that stale, musky odour and the affected garden-fresh fragrance really had nowhere to go. They hovered around us, bearing an uncomfortable weight all their own in the enclosed space, making me as aware of them as I would another person in the room.

I wasn't prompted to gag, as I'd learned the trick of breathing through your open mouth when entering a new scene as a result of my job, but the smell in the room was strong enough for me to wish I had one of those Muggle facial masks that they use at crime scenes and in hospitals to cover my nose.

Second, there was the condition of the room itself. My heart plummeted into my shoes at the sight of a rusty metal bed frame supporting a dirty, sagging mattress. The thin, cotton sheet draped over the top of it appeared freshly laundered from its lack of wrinkles, but stains from bodily fluids I didn't want to guess at had long-ago set in, turning it a dingy, grey-brown. There were no pillows, no blankets, and no mirrors. A small bedside table was situated next to the bed; its single drawer was missing. A rickety, old armoire with no doors showed off a display of poorly maintained BDSM paraphernalia. The closet on the opposite side of the room had no door, either, and inside, I could see a small grouping of clothes on wire hangers - all skimpy outfits, some masculine, but a few that were clearly designed for a female body. None of them looked new; a few were even a thread or two away from coming apart.

I turned to look at my old rival, but he had his face turned to the door, his hand on the knob.

"What do you really want, Potter?" he asked, sounding resigned, tired.

"Malfoy... Draco," I began, speaking softly, as I would to one of my children, "what are you doing  _here?"_

He huffed a laugh and turned to look me in the eye. In a mean, snappy voice he said, "Sucking cock. Want your turn now?"

I could feel his fury radiating across the distance through my pores. Daring to step closer, getting up into his personal space, I was distinctly aware of his hot, panting breath as it blasted against my cheek.

A beat later, he shocked me when he dropped his gaze to my chest in automatic submission, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he held the pose, waiting for my next move.

A part of me was instantly aroused by his reaction, even against my will.

It was something of a secret, but I'd discovered enjoyment behaving as the Dominant in my bedroom activities as I'd gotten older. It was one of the reasons Ginny and I had split-up years ago, as we'd discovered that change in me an incompatibility we couldn't surmount. In the years since our divorce, I'd frequented Muggle clubs that catered to such a lifestyle, but so far, I hadn't found a submissive that did it for me. Malfoy falling into the role so easily, without any prompting from me, was a shocking turn-on. From the time we were eleven years old onward, I hadn't envisioned him as anything more than a prat with a nasty mouth, a foul temper, and a delinquent's agenda. Now, I was seeing one of his hidden facets...

...and I was instantly, unexpectedly beguiled by it.

Keeping my focus on the challenge of talking Draco into leaving with me, I tamped down on my inappropriate desire, giving my hard-on a mental command to forget about it. "Why are you doing this? Why did you just disappear? There have been people looking for you, you know?"

A bitter smirk twisted his handsome face. "Yes, I know. All ready to give me that nice, padded cell in Azkaban next to Lucius."

Firmly, I shook my head. "No. Where the hell did you get that ridiculous idea?"

He glanced off to the side, frowning. "But... I mean, he'd... The night Granger was attacked he said that he was going to have me tossed in prison with my father if I didn't leave England right away, and permanently stay gone. He said he was going to make sure everyone believed I'd been the one to hurt her, just to make sure I couldn't come back. I knew he could do it, too, because he's an Auror and a war hero, and everyone fucking loves him and his  _spotted_  family. I always assumed he'd gone through with it out of spite – told them I raped her, I mean."

My head jerked back and I felt as if I'd been slapped hard across the face. "You're talking about that year Hermione returned to Hogwarts to take her N.E.W.T.s after the war, when she was assaulted by some unknown assailant the month before her graduation. That was you?"

Draco's jaw clenched. "I didn't rape her. I'd  _never_  do that."

I narrowed my eyes, assessing him for clues as to the truth of that statement. My instincts told me he was telling the truth, but that he was also holding something back as well. "If you didn't, then who did?" I asked, pushing, wanting to get to the heart of the matter and solve this decade-old mystery. "And who threatened you?"

Malfoy huffed in bitter amusement. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

I folded my arms over my chest. "Try me."

There was  _so much_ anger in his silvery stare as he looked into the very heart of me. "Really? Even if I told you it was your beloved best bum-buddy, the Weasel King, himself?"

It took me a solid minute to process that accusation.

"You're saying Ron raped Hermione?" I asked for clarification.

My former rival glared at me. "Yes."

"And he threatened that he was going to tell everyone you did it so you'd flee England forever?"

A curt nod answered my question.

"Why?"

Draco dropped his gaze to the floor and mumbled something too low for me to hear. I asked him to repeat his words, and when he did my jaw came unhinged in disbelief.

"Because he wanted me out of Hermione's life," he vehemently hissed. "Because he knew how she and I felt about each other!"

Reeling, I stepped back several paces. "You're... That's..."

I couldn't find the words to counter such a ludicrous implication.

"Unbelievable?" Malfoy supplied, giving me a bitter smirk and meeting my gaze again. "Told you. It's the truth, nonetheless."

I gaped like a gasping fish out of water, my mouth opening, closing, opening, closing. It might have been comical if we hadn't been discussing such serious things as rape, blackmail, abuse of power, and a cover-up of epic proportions.

"When? How?"

None of it made sense to me. I mean, yes, Hermione had definitely changed after her assault. She'd withdrawn, become quieter, less assertive, and more deferent to Ron in their relationship...

I paused, a terrible possibility entering my mind.

She hadn't just become reserved since that event. No, her behaviour was more like... well, like she'd become  _submissive_.

Suddenly, little things she'd done throughout the years since that event began to take on new meaning. There were the tiny flinches of pain that tightened the corners of her eyes and mouth as hugs were given, the glances towards her husband before speaking in public, the fact that she tended to wear long-sleeved outfits and trousers, not skirts or short-sleeved tops even during summer or to fancy parties. She never wore bathing suits or went to the beach with them. She never wore make-up or tried to make herself prettier, despite Ginny's constant attempts over the years. There were the continual declines to go anywhere without Ron, and the very sudden loss of ambition in the career she'd always told everyone she'd wanted once she'd gotten her N.E.W.T.s and in the political causes she'd always championed, even as a younger girl back in school. Her house was always neat and tidy, and her meals were always served at the same time every day. Fuck, even her pantries were alphabetized and straight as a pin.

I'd always thought those things were a consequence of her sexual assault; that she'd been so traumatized by the brutality she'd experienced that she'd been unable to rally and take back her lost power. I'd assumed that she'd anchored her sanity and strength in perfecting routine, and that Ron had provided her support. I'd believe that was the reason for her clinging and even deferring to him.

How could I not have known?

"You seeing it now?" Draco asked. "Seeing what I saw back then?"

My heart was slamming under my ribs, and conflicting emotions roiled around in my head and through my guts.

"She befriended me that year, when no one else would. Said everyone deserved a second chance," my rented companion explained. "Her and her bloody goody-good morality got to me. She made me start to believe that maybe forgiveness was in the cards someday. By Christmas..."

He paused and I looked over at him. He was starting at the floor and his cheeks were on fire.

"I loved her, Potter. I'd have done anything for her -  _anything._  Kind of ironic, seeing as how just the year before, I was involved with a mad man out to kill her."

He shut his eyes and leaned his head back into the door, tilting his chin to the ceiling. "I fucking loved her and that son-of-a-bitch Weasel... he ruined her when he found out she was going to dump his ugly arse. Seduced her with guilt. Told her that breaking it off would cause their friends to have to choose between them, splitting everyone's loyalties during a time when they were still healing from the war. He told her they couldn't stay friends if she left him, and that meant he'd have to stop being friends with you, too, because it would be too painful to be around the two of you, or some such nonsense shite." He glanced at me, fury in his eyes. "You know her. You know she'd sacrifice her own happiness for others."

Yes, that was definitely something Hermione would do.

Malfoy banged a closed fist against the door, causing it to rattle in its frame. "She was a virgin, Potter, and he took that from her not out of love, but out of a need to possess her before anyone else could!"

"Valentine's Day," I said, remembering that particular incident. Ron had gone to see Hermione that night because she'd written him the day before, telling him she thought they'd be better off as friends. She'd wanted to break-off their relationship. He'd gone to talk to her about it, and then come back to our shared flat in London early the next morning, still wearing the same clothes. He'd been rumpled, with that 'I've been well-fucked' hair, and as pleased as the cat that got the cream. He'd told me he'd asked 'Mione to marry him, that she'd accepted, and that they'd finally done 'the deed'. I'd been happy for him that things had worked out and congratulated him. "It was then, wasn't it?"

"She'd regretted it the next day," Draco said, his voice choked up. "Came to me in tears, apologizing. Shite, I hadn't even kissed her then, Potter. I hadn't even touched her like that. She was faithful to that slimy bastard and I respected her too much to push, but she kept saying she was sorry to me, as if she'd known it was the wrong thing to do with him when it was clear we had feelings for each other."

"Were you... together after that?" I asked, finding the words difficult to push through my teeth. Hermione and Malfoy. I was having trouble wrapping my head around it.

He ran a hand through those long, silken bangs of his. "Not right away, no. I didn't want to confuse her anymore than she was already. I wanted her to come to the determination on her own that it was best to end things with carrot-top. She finally made up her mind the day everyone was leaving for the Easter hols. Had her bag packed, ready to go, and left it right there on the platform at Hogsmeade when she changed her mind. She ran all the way back to the castle, and right into my arms."

"That's why she didn't come home then." I was floored, seeing the puzzle pieces come together one at a time. "She'd told us all it was to study for her upcoming N.E.W.T.s."

Draco's hand gripped the area over his heart, as if it were painful to remember. "Yeah, well, we did a little of that during that week, too. Not much, though."

"Shite," I swore, not wanting to envision my best girl friend having it off with Malfoy.

He slammed his hand against the door again. "She'd picked me, Potter. She'd wanted me, not  _him_. I would have given her anything she'd asked, and to hell with what anyone thought."

Another memory intruded. "We'd been on assignment in the field that month, so he couldn't see her anyway. It wasn't until May that-" I stopped short.

May had been when she'd been raped.

"That he'd come to see her again," Draco confirmed for me my worst suspicions. "She'd agreed to meet him in Hogsmeade that afternoon to tell him it was over and to give back the pathetic little ring he'd given her on Valentine's night. I'd promised her I'd let her handle it, but... the hours dragged on and by mid-afternoon, she hadn't come back. I broke curfew then and took off for the village, worried that he'd talked her out of being with me. The Weasel has always had an unnatural hold over her, although for the life of me, I've never understood why that is. He's so far beneath her."

Ironically, during that year we'd been on the run hunting horcruxes, I'd secretly thought the same thing. There had been a short time after Ron had left us that I'd fancied Hermione and I might be meant for each other, but when she'd rejected me, I'd felt bitter. Of course, I'd believed that feeling to have been influenced by the horcrux locket around my neck, but however it had originated, the thought had lain there, festering like an open wound in the darker parts of my head for at least a week.

I'd felt terribly guilty for thinking such things about my friend afterwards, of course and done my best ever since to encourage him, but perhaps the horcrux had only amplified the truth that I'd suppressed in my heart for many years.

"Ron said-" I began, then had to stop and clear the lump that had lodged in my throat. "He'd said they'd met and talked, and she'd been under a lot of stress from all of the studying, and  _that_  had caused her to have doubts about them again, but they'd decided to work through it. After they'd agreed to stay together, he'd claimed that he'd separated from her for a few minutes to go buy her something nice at Scrivenshaft's, but when he'd gone back to their meeting place, she wasn't there. He said he'd searched for her for an hour, until he'd finally found her in front of the Shrieking Shack, lying on the ground. She'd been... you know."

Malfoy barked a cynical laugh. "Bet his report said the same thing, word-for-fucking-word. Bastard."

"Did you see it happen?" I asked, needing proof.

My blond companion shook his head. "I found her just as he was standing up, but Potter-" He looked me dead in the eye. "-he was tightening his belt back into place, like it had been loosened. And he'd been crouched over her bared thighs, not coming up alongside, like someone would if they'd happened across an unconscious person. He was also red in the face, sweating, like he'd been doing something strenuous, and Granger was unconscious under him, clearly  _Stupefy'd._ "

"That proves nothing," I tried to argue, still not wanting to believe. "He could have been leaning over her to check her vital signs."

Firmly, Malfoy shook his head, his long fringe brushing his cheek. "When I ran onto the scene, he stood up real slow, stared me in the eye with hatred. He knew. She'd tried to leave him for me, and he'd punished her for it. He'd let me know in that one look what had happened." His fists clenched at his sides. "I was shocked. I couldn't believe the Weasel would hurt her like that. That distraction cost me. He had me  _Silence'd_  and trussed up by an  _Incarcerous_  spell before I could blink." He snarled, and I could practically hear his back teeth cracking from the pressure. "He took my wand from where I'd dropped it and snapped it in half right in front of me. Then took me by Side-Along to the Port of London. Fucker dumped me in some cargo ship's hold, and threatened that if I ever came back to England, he'd make sure he was there personally to arrest me for her rape. He also threatened my mother. Said he'd make sure she ended up rotting in a cell next to Lucius. He left me in there right when the ship was leaving port. I ended up in Hamburg, Germany before the spells wore off and I could move again."

"You didn't go to the authorities then?"

Why hadn't he reported what had happened? Surely someone would have-

"I tried," he countered. "It took me a bit to find them without magic, but I reported what had happened. You know what they did when I told them an Auror - one of their own - had perpetrated rape on an innocent? They pulled my sleeves up to check for the Dark Mark, just in case. Guess what they did when they found it on me?" He sneered. "If it wasn't for the fact they were a bunch of bumbling fools, I'd probably still be locked up in a German prison right now. I was lucky to make an escape. I've been on the run ever since."

"You never tried to get back to England?" I pressed, looking for any flaw in his story that might reveal it to be false.

He licked his lips, looked away as if ashamed. "Of course I tried, but... Christ, Potter, it's not like I knew anything about living on the run. It's hard to get around when you don't know shite about Muggle life, have no magic, and are a wanted man. I did the best I could. On the streets, I hid out, moving from place to place on foot." His jaw clenched and remembered pain etched into his features. "I ate whatever I could find or steal. I slept wherever I could find shelter. Any money I managed to find, beg for, or steal I could never hold onto, though. The rape and press gangs that are in just about every city take it from you... among other things. I ended up here because of them. This" -he waved his hand at the dingy room- "is better than the alternative though. At least I'm not sick anymore. Almost fucking died five years ago from pneumonia."

"Jesus," I whispered, appalled by the tragedy of Draco's life. "Why don't you try to escape?"

With a bitter smirk, he reached up and tugged at the collar around his neck. "This assures I can't. Not unless I want my head disconnected from my body. Like I said, five years ago, I got really sick. I was delirious with fever and coughing up blood. That witch you met in the lobby, she found me passed out in an alley not far from here and brought me to this house. She's the owner's wife. He's the local Head Bruiser. Controls the gangs in these parts, and runs this brothel."

"You're... you're a  _slave?"_  I asked, even more astonished. "But that's illegal! Fucking hell! I thought you were here by choice."

I shook my head. "Technically, they call it 'indentured servitude'. The collar comes off when I pay back all the money they spent trying to save my life from the pneumonia. Took me six months before I could get on my feet after that, and they say I owe them for all of the medicines and the use of this room during that time. That sort of bullshite. Current running total is three-hundred and ten thousand Galleons."

My head started to hurt as I grit my jaw. "You said that happened five years ago. Surely, you've paid it back by now?"

Draco huffed an amused laugh. "Oh, but there's the cost of continuing to live here while I'm working off my debt. And food, clothing, use of the bathroom, salves and medicines to cure the damage the punters do to me - that sort of thing. It all adds up, doesn't it?"

"Bloody hell, at that rate... fuck, you'll never pay off the debt," I snapped.

"That's sort of the point, Potter."

I made up my mind about something then and there: even if he was making this whole story about Hermione and Ron up, I couldn't leave him to this life. No one deserved this. "We're getting you out of here," I stated with finality. "There must be a way."

Malfoy snorted, crossing his arms again and leaning back against the door. "There isn't. I've tried for five years. As long as the collar's on, I'm stuck. It constricts if I try to cross the wards of this house."

I stepped closer to him again, peering at the device around his neck. There were ancient runes etched into the black leather encircling his throat. "I bet 'Mione would know what these runes said. She could probably get it off you. I could bring her here."

Draco's eyes suddenly flared with panic and he dropped all pretence, real fear settling about his shoulders and in his expression. "You can't! She can't see me like this! For God's sake, Potter, you can't tell her about this!" His hands shook as he clasped them before us in a begging manner. "Please. I'll do anything you want. I'll suck your cock, let you whip me - anything. Just... don't tell her the truth!"

He dropped to his knees before me then and began loosening my belt.

I batted his hands away. "What the hell? Get off, Malfoy!"

Persistently, he reached to undo my trousers, his face a mask of desperation. I hopped back. He crawled after me, tears blurring his deep-set, world-weary eyes. "Please, I'll do anything you want!" he begged, and I could hear the pain in his voice. "You can't bring her here!"

Fuck, this was so wrong! It hurt to see Malfoy this broken.

I put my hands over his as they clung to the waist of my slacks. "Draco," I murmured, talking to him gently again. "Stop."

He hung his head, openly weeping. "Please, don't let her see me like this. Don't let her know what I've become! I'd rather she think I was dead than this!"

I crouched in front of him and did the only thing I could think to do: I hugged him to me, offering him kindness and comfort. It seemed he could do with a little of both just then. He didn't hug me back, but he did sob into my shoulder, dampening my shirt with years worth of sorrow and pain.

In that moment, I believed him. I'd been around long enough to know when a suspect was yanking my chain. I knew the difference between paranoid fantasy and the truth. This was the latter.

Which meant Ron had done the unthinkable. Maybe was even doing it still.

And I had to stop him.


	3. Chapter 3

Angry didn't cover it. I was furious, enough that when I found the proprietor of the establishment that had enslaved Draco, I proceeded to scare the fuck out of him by telling him my name and showing him my scar. For once, I was glad to see my reputation preceded me.

The man immediately removed Malfoy's collar and claimed his indentured servitude over.

After giving Draco my cloak to cover up, I then proceeded to tell the owner of the house that it was his turn to lose his freedom, and promptly arrested him. Using my Patronus, I called the local chapter of Italian Aurors over and had them pick over the house, setting free the other slaves and arresting all of the patrons and staff. Just to make a point, I burned the place to the ground after everyone was out. I controlled the fire so it didn't spread to neighbouring buildings, but when it was done there was nothing but a smoking pile of ash where the brothel had once stood.

Taking Draco by Side-Along Apparition, I brought him to my flat in Camden. I'd moved there after Gin and I had split, finding the location perfect, given its proximity to King's Cross Station and Diagon Alley.

The first thing I did once I shut and locked the door behind us was to dump my overnight bag onto the sofa. The second thing was to guide Malfoy into the shower to wash up. I wanted the lingering stink of desperate sex and musty cigarettes gone from his body and hair.

In the bathroom, I stripped him down, and he let me remove every stitch without protest. I tossed the rentboy costume aside, determined to burn it tomorrow. I then took my shoes and socks off, but kept the rest of my kit on as we headed under the hot spray. In no time, I was soaked, and the fabric of my denim jeans and linen shirt became a leaden weight upon my tired limbs. Regardless, the clothes stayed on. I had no intention of letting my guest believe for a minute that he'd left one type of sexual service for another when that was never even a thought in the cards.

Compliant and submissive, and clearly suffering from what we, in law enforcement, called 'Survivor's Shock', Draco leaned against the tile wall of my narrow standing shower and allowed me to administer some much needed TLC to him. I carefully washed him down with a soft, but clinical touch. He made no sound as I ran the soapy towel over his face, his neck, his torso, and his limbs, nor when I tenderly swiped between his legs and up the crack of his backside. Of course, I'd averted my eyes and murmured a quick apology as I cleaned his more sensitive areas, letting him know there was nothing sexual intended in the act.

When that task was done, I lathered up his dulled, greasy hair with a shampoo scented of mint, massaging it into his scalp, ridding it of its dullness and making it shine with the same sugar-white gloss as it had in our youth. As I finished rinsing the frothy bubbles away, finally removing the last physical trace of the dirty life he'd been enslaved to for so long, strangled sobs of relief were torn from Malfoy's throat. He covered his eyes and wept like a child.

Wrapping my arms about him, I pulled him into me again and held him close as he cried a second time, letting the water wash away his sins.

After that, my new roommate was oddly silent, clearly traumatized by all he'd endured and physically exhausted by years of unrelenting stress. Towelling him down, I led him to my room and put him in my bed, warming it with a charm for his comfort. He gripped my hand as I made to leave him there, so I sat at his side and watched over him until he fell asleep. It didn't take long. Ten minutes and the grip on my hand went slack, and I knew he was out cold.

I snagged a comfy pair of cotton shorts and a tee on the way out of the room, and slogged off back to the loo to change out of my sopping wet things. A spell mopped up the floor behind me, and I hung my clothes to dry over the tub with another charm. My Muggle contacts - another upgrade to my life, post-Ginny - were set in their tray of lens care solution for overnight storage, and I took my spectacles from their case in the medicine cabinet and slipped them onto my nose. That done, I realized that I was much too tired to brush my teeth or wash my face just then, so I gave myself the pass and left the bathroom, dragged my feet down the hall, grabbed a spare pillow and a guest blanket from the linen closet, and headed for the couch. I had only enough energy left to set my glasses on the coffee table before passing out for the night.

My sleep was far from restful it turned out, as I suffered a string of bad dreams that woke me several times before dawn. Salazar Slytherin's locket featured prominently in every one of them, and although I'd always felt there was little to Divination, in general, I took that odd detail as a portent nonetheless. Trelawney's prophecy, which had driven the War's outcome, had taught me that there was no such thing as sheer coincidence in the cosmic scheme of things.

My houseguest was down for the count until around ten the next morning before dragging himself out of my bed and into the light of his new life. I'd gotten up and moved into the kitchen when I'd heard him stirring in my room, believing a hot meal and a strong cup of coffee might do wonders for us both.

"Morning," I offered as Malfoy schlepped into the room and took the nearest chair.

He grunted in response, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and stifled a yawn. When he stretched, bones popped... and the cotton tee he wore drew tight across his small, almost girlish torso. My body instantly reacted, against my will, clenching with the stirrings of desire. It took everything I had not to stare at his raised nipples as the fabric rasped across them, and to force my attention back to the eggs I was scrambling in the skillet before the stove.

Fuck, but seeing him in a pair of my favourite, faded jeans and an old, cotton shirt from my youth, walking barefoot across my floor, and with his platinum hair mussed from sleep, made me remember how it felt to  _want_. It had been too long since I'd known such feelings. Five months. That was a long time for a bloke not to pull or have the urge to wank. I seriously needed some relief, and soon.

My eyes strayed towards Draco again, but his attention was fixated on the paisley pattern etched into the kitchen's linoleum flooring. I watched those silver-grey orbs dip as they followed the curves of the design, and realised again just how long his dark gold lashes were. They softened his sharp expression, giving him an effeminate appeal that tempted my attraction to him.

 _Don't think such things,_  I inwardly cautioned, knowing that it was not only inappropriate, but also morally reprehensible to be having lust-filled thoughts about the man. He'd been through enough sexual trauma to last a lifetime. The last thing he needed was to meet another person in this world he couldn't trust.

I finished the eggs and toast, salted them for flavour, set them on the table with the utensils, and retrieved two cups of black coffee for us before taking the seat opposite him. We ate the rather common meal in silence at my small cafe-styled table for two, the sounds of our chewing, crunching, and slurping the only noises in the flat.

After, as I was washing the dishes in the sink, Draco approached, sidling up to me and reaching for a drying towel to help.

"You're wearing your glasses now," he noted in a casual manner, "but you weren't last night. What, did they invent a new spell to temporarily fix bad vision while I was away?"

I shook my head. "Not a spell. I wear Muggle inventions called 'contacts' - they're like... mini glasses that sit right up against your eyeball. They're very small, almost invisible really, but they do the same thing as my spectacles so I can see. They're not the most comfortable things in the world to wear long-term, and I had them in almost all of yesterday, so I'm giving my eyes a break today."

Draco's eyebrow twitched, as if he was impressed by such an invention, but he said nothing to that effect. Instead, he asked, "What are you going to do about Weasley?"

"Get the truth out of him," I stated, my tone as grim as I felt at the prospect.

My companion made an approving noise. "If you're going to beat it out of him, I want to watch."

I shook my head. "I don't know what to expect once I confront Ron, but either way, you stay here and out of sight until he's in custody." When he looked to protest, I held one soapy hand up between us to stop him. "If he's as dangerous as you say he is, without a wand of your own, you're vulnerable. And frankly, I can't be worried about what you'll do once you're face-to-face with him again."

"I'm not going to stay here forever, Potter," he snarled, fisting the drying cloth in his hand. "I've been forced to hide for more than a third of my life. I'll not continue to do so!"

Nodding, I agreed. "I'm not asking that of you. Just... be patient, recuperate in peace here, and prepare yourself for the trials ahead, because it's not going to get any easier from this point forward. I'll try to shelter you from as much of it as I can and to plug any leaks to the press, but there will be questions from the courts, as well as from your friends and family members, who have been waiting for word about your fate for years. When you show back up in their lives, you're going to have to tell them something. Best to get yourself ready for that. In the meantime, let my department and the Hit Wizard's office sort Ron out - whichever one of us ends up with jurisdiction in this case, that is."

"Oh, yes, let the mighty Ministry step in and take care of seeing to one of its own, because the law's done such a bang-up job of keeping Weasley honest so far," my guest snidely commented.

I took a deep breath and slowly let it out, returning to finishing up the dishes without another word, refusing to be drawn into the fight Malfoy was seeking. His hostility was more than understandable; the system had failed him over and over again. It had raped him, and left him at the mercy of those without compassion. It wasn't his fault that he'd become so cynical, and that he was antsy for a little revenge against the one who'd wronged him. Yet, I refused to give him a reason to turn that anger on me. Right now, for all his mocking sarcasm and bursts of heated emotion, he was still somewhat submissive to my will in this matter, seeing me not only as his rescuer, but also as a professional authority figure. If I got into a shouting match with him, I'd lose that higher ground.

As of now, it was my job to give him hope, to turn all of his anger around into more productive, healing pursuits.

"We'll figure out a way to reintroduce you to the world in a few weeks. I promise." I turned my head to look at him, and in a low, unyielding tone, I said, "Right now, though, I need you to cooperate with me, or I can't do my job. I won't be able to concentrate on stopping Ron and getting Hermione to safety, or on controlling the press and the politics in this case, if I have to worry about you doing something foolish that will undermine my efforts. Understand?"

He glared frost at me with those ice-grey eyes of his, but nodded once in agreement. I felt the tension that had gathered in my shoulders relax a bit at that.

"Good," I said, sealing the deal between us as I emptied the sink of its dirty water and wrung out the sponge, putting it back on its tray next to the faucet. I wiped my wet hands off on the rag Malfoy had used to wipe down the dishes.

Draco stared at my hands as I rubbed them dry.

"You could have just used magic on the dishes," he pointed out, a small smirk gracing his lips. "Your roots are showing, Potter."

I adjusted my glasses on the bridge of my nose, and replied, "Sometimes, I like doing things the Muggle way. Makes me feel more accomplished."

He stared at me, and his grin bloomed into something suggestive and wicked. "Tell yourself that when you're down looking to pull at  _Il Diavolo Dentro_ , too? A non-wizarding, gay fetish club - really, Potter? Even I've heard the rumours about that place."

I refused to be baited or upset from something that was, essentially, the truth. I hadn't gone through with the offer that had been made to me at the club that night by the man that had approached me, but it wasn't like I hadn't gone there with the intention of hooking up for a little anonymous Dom/sub sex.

"Sometimes," I admitted, shrugging. "What's it to you?"

To my astonishment, heat and surprise flared in those arctic lenses staring back at me at my easy admission, as if Draco hadn't really believed me when I'd made the claim of having been to the club last night. His tongue swiped out to wet his lips. "You weren't fucking with me, were you? You really  _were_  there last night, before…" He left off, clearly confused, maybe even a little amazed at learning the truth about my sexuality.

I shrugged. "No, I wasn't lying. Yes, I was there. Again, so what if I was?"

At being so challenged, Malfoy reacted exactly the same way as he has yesterday in the privacy of his rented room: he dropped his gaze to the floor, yielding to the more dominant temper.

Just like last night, my body reacted wholly without my permission to his willing surrender, hardening with anticipation.

Thankfully, before I could say or do something stupid, he stepped back, leaving the dishrag in my hands, and returned to his abandoned seat at the table. Plonking his bum down in the chair, he crossed his arms over his chest in the universal sign to ward someone away.

I took the hint and turned away, mostly so he couldn't see the arousal straining the front of my jeans, and began putting away the dishes and utensils he'd dried.

"What are you going to tell… her?" he asked, and it was obviously to whom he was referring.

That was a harder question to answer. To what lengths would I go to protect Hermione? Would I be willing to kidnap her away from Ron's side, if that's what it took? Of course I would. For her, I'd do just about any damned thing. "I'll tell her whatever will be necessary to get her to leave their house and not return."

"Even if that means tricking her?"

"Yes."

"Even if you have to drag her by her hair out the door?"

"Absolutely," I answered without a bit of guilt.

Malfoy was quiet for a bit after that, and only the sound of the ceramic plates scraping against each other and the silverware pinging together broke the strained silence between us. "You're more ruthless than you used to be," he finally said in observation. "Still have that idiotic need to play the saviour, though."

Strangely, I found that comment amusing. Chuckling, I replied, "Yeah, well, some things don't change, I guess."

"You don't think so?" he asked, and his voice was soft, almost as if he was considering that thought more than seeking an answer. "Everything's changed. For me, anyway."

"I suppose you're right," I conceded after a moment's pause, "but you don't have to face those changes alone. I'll help."

He peeked up at me through his lashes, but said no more.

I turned back to the utensil drawer, tucking it back in, and dropped the dish towel on the edge of the sink. Crossing the room, I took the seat opposite Draco again. "On that note, would you be willing to let me take a peek into your head, to see the details of what you told me from your point of view? I'll need that information to make any charges against Ron stick."

He'd been running a finger around in circles over a knotted pattern in the wooden table, but stopped, going stock still, at my request. There was a deep wariness in his eyes as he considered the idea, and he opened his mouth twice before replying.

"How far back will you go?"

I pressed my palms into my thighs, rubbing them back and forth, uneasy with the idea, too. "From the time you got back on the Hogwarts Express for eighth year 'til now."

He swallowed and his gaze dropped to the floor. "Everything, then." His lids went flat, his mouth evened out, and he suddenly looked very defeated. "Fine. Get it over with."

I took him into the living room, we sat on the sofa facing each other, and with an apology in advance, I commenced to perform Legilimency on him.

I'd improved in both types of mind-magic over the years, both Legilimency and Occlumency, finding them a necessary advantage to ferreting out the truth on occasion, or to keep others out of my head so I wouldn't blow my cover. Using such skill, I saw more than I ever bargained for in Draco's head.

His interest in Hermione had begun early in that eighth year, as Slughorn had assigned them as Potions partners. By November, they'd begun flirting. It had been harmless fun between them, but it had also lent itself to changing how he'd viewed her. By that Christmas holiday, as he'd gone home to be with his mother in the quiet of their large, mostly empty home and realized how much he'd missed my best friend, that was when Draco Malfoy had admitted to himself that somehow, someway, he'd fallen in love with the one witch in the world he shouldn't have.

He'd told me the truth last night: once he'd realised his feelings, he'd tried to respect her relationship with Ron and had struggled to keep his emotions in check around her. It was a little too late to push her away at that point, though. It was clear, as I viewed his memories, that Hermione had already begun to fall in love with Malfoy by then, too, and that she'd felt conflicted by such feelings.

He'd watched her walk away from him on Valentine's afternoon, and then return to him the next day, sobbing and admitting everything that had happened between her and Ron the previous evening. I'd felt Draco's pain as she'd admitted to sleeping with my best friend, and how he'd strived in earnest to keep her at arm's length after that.

Then had come that fateful day that she had been scheduled to leave for home for the Easter break. I'd felt Malfoy's despair as he'd believed she'd continue her relationship with Ron once she visited the Burrow for the holiday, as she'd planned. When she'd run down the corridor towards him and launched herself into his arms, though, admitting to ditching the train and wanting to stay with him, I'd been as surprised and relieved as he.

I'd felt Draco's capitulation then, as well as his elation in knowing she'd picked  _him_ , despite their terrible past history and what the world might think of her lowering herself to be with him, a marked wizard. The strength of his love for my best friend shocked me. He'd surrendered to it with full heart, mind, and body, submitting to the responsibilities and consequences of those feelings without regret or fear. His passion for her superseded any I'd ever known in the whole of my life, even with my ex-wife. It moved me, changed me, and made me uncomfortably aware of my shortcomings.

I turned away from those thoughts, concentrating on the wizard before me and what he remembered, tucking away my personal misgivings for another time.

As I played voyeur to the rest of that week's activities... Well, at least Malfoy hadn't lied to me about him and 'Mione getting almost no studying done that holiday. They'd really been insatiable for each other then.

In the weeks that had followed, I followed his slow mental crawl out of the mire of his shame, finding new hope for himself through what he'd discovered with Hermione, beginning to believe that he could forge a new life - one that included her permanently a part of the picture.

Then, one morning in May, she'd come to him and told him she was going to meet Ron down in the village to permanently break things off. She'd asked Draco to stay and wait for her to come back in a couple of hours. It had taken remarkable restraint for him to do as she'd bid, and he'd paced the floors for hours waiting for her return. It wasn't until it began to grow dark out that he finally broke his vow and went to search for her.

He'd run everywhere through the village, in and out of stores that stayed open longer because of their summer schedules. Desperate, he'd even decided to check out the Shrieking Shack, just in case.

That's when he'd come upon Ron getting up off of an unconscious Hermione, red faced, sweating, buckling up his belt... and looking supremely satisfied. There was a sadistic cruelty to my best friend's eyes that I hadn't seen since that day he'd been influenced by the horcrux locket and had picked a fight with me and Hermione, storming off afterwards. It was there again, glinting in his dark blue gaze, twisting his lips into a triumphant sneer. When it turned on Draco, there was an obscene kind of glee reflected there as well.

Everything played out exactly as Draco had described then.

I watched in horror as he'd been hexed, dumped in the cargo hold of a ship, and when he'd finally been freed of the spells upon him, he'd found himself in Muggle Germany, wandless, not speaking the language, and confused. I panicked with him as he'd been arrested by the Aurors for carrying the Dark Mark, and mentally shouted at him to flee when he'd been able to trick his guards. I pitied him as he'd grown frustrated and helpless out on the streets alone, facing a world that was foreign to him in every way, and I suffered with him as he'd been held down and sodomized that first time by the rape and press gang he'd accidentally stumbled upon.

From there, time seemed to fly by a he'd kept on the run, trying to avoid wizarding communities for fear of being arrested and thrown in prison, and dodging those who would do him harm. He'd slept under cardboard boxes, in stairwells, under bushes, and when he could sneak in, even in public restrooms at the park. He'd eaten from soup kitchens, a trash bin or two, and even broke into houses when the owners weren't home when he was desperate enough for something to eat and fresh water.

All of it had wounded his pride, but nothing had killed the man inside as much as when he'd been forced by near starvation to turn his first trick for money.

He'd cried as he'd taken the cash in the afters, but it hadn't taken long for him to learn the trick of letting his mind disconnect during the act. He'd also discovered early on the safety to be found with Muggle condoms, and always insisted his punters wear such protection. Having no access to Anti-Disease charms made him very afraid of catching an STD, especially after seeing some of the other men on the street become very sick because they'd played it too daring.

I felt a bit of ease come over me when he'd joined an actual rentboy house at one point. At least there he had been fed, clothed, safe from the weather, and had been given his choice of clientele. However, the place had been raided by Muggle police less than a year after he'd arrived, and although he'd managed to escape incarceration, he'd unfortunately ended up back out on the streets again. As it was the middle of winter then, and he hadn't been wearing a warm enough jacket, scarf, or hat, he'd gotten very sick with pneumonia within two weeks.

Ironically, that was when the wizarding world had finally caught up to him.

Delirious with fever, he'd passed in and out of consciousness for a time period that I couldn't determine. When he'd finally regained his higher rationality, he'd been too weak to sit up on his own. It had taken weeks of antibiotics and months of convalescing to be able to breathe without wheezing. After that, he'd been brought before the wizard who would become his owner for the next five years. He'd been magically collared, given a room, and told he had to work off his debts.

And work them off he had.

Merlin, I couldn't believe how many people he'd been forced to have sex with! The number had to be at least a hundred -  _at least._ I fast-forwarded through most of those memories, not wanting to see the things he'd let those people - both men and women - do to him. Unfortunately, I caught flashes here and there, and what I saw turned my stomach. No wonder he'd been so ashamed and desperate to keep the truth from 'Mione!

Draco had definitely tried on several occasions to escape his captivity over the five years, but each time, he'd dearly paid for the attempt with physical pain. The collar had effectively kept him inside, and the mob that ran the house had kept him in line. He'd begun to truly despair his life, even considering suicide...

...and then I'd walked through his front door.

The profound relief I felt radiating from him as he gazed upon my memory-self brought tears to my eyes, because in that moment, I felt his belief in me. He'd known I'd save him.

As I let the mind-magic end, I tried to hide the tears that wavered before my vision, wiping them away with the back of my hand. My legs shook as I took off for the bathroom, needing to get away, to process without suffocating from the guilt that pounded the back of my skull like a giant hammer. The memories of Draco's suffering haunted my every step.

By the time I got to the sink, I thought I might be sick. Splashing cold water over my face helped a bit, alleviating the pressure behind my eyes. I pressed my forehead against the cool surface of the vanity mirror and took deep, calming breaths.

Fuck, but Malfoy had lived a horrible life - one that he hadn't deserved, no matter how much of a prat he'd been to me as a child. And it was all because he'd made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong girl.

Because of Ron.

How could I not have put it all together? I was the most decorated Auror that M.L.E. has had for over a hundred years. After the war, I'd captured Dolohov, both Lestrange brothers, Yaxley, and Mulciber single-handedly. I'd cracked cold cases that had remained unresolved and forgotten for decades. I'd ferreted out information from the toughest dark wizards, and put together the most obscure clues to reveal the truth. Yet, I hadn't seen what had been right in front of my face for so many years.

The horcrux's hold over Ron's soul had never gone away, I knew that now. Something dark and sinister in him had taken root, just as it had in me - and as it obviously had in Hermione.

In my own case, I'd become more ruthless, sometimes even brutal in my handling of suspects, and I could admit now that I'd taken pleasure from their suffering. 'Mione must have withdrawn into herself, her doubts eating away at her. She'd always had a fragile self-image, no matter her front and bluster. It was the reason she'd had to be perfect in everything back in school, to cover up her supposed inadequacies. And Ron... his personal doubts about his lot in life - born the last son in a huge family, constantly reminded of his less-than-glamorous upbringing by others of greater means, and continually scolded by professors back in school for his lack of ambition and magical skill - must have fuelled his anger and turned him vicious. I'd seen it in his eyes and heard it in his accusations that day he'd left Hermione and me back in that tent during the year we'd been on the run, but I hadn't thought such maliciousness lingered by the way he'd come back to us later, and how he'd finally conquered the locket horcrux with Gryffindor's sword. I'd assumed he'd overcome its influence on him.

I'd assumed we all had.

Clearly not.

None of this was my fault. I knew that deep down inside, and yet, I still felt responsible, because the horcrux had only managed to get a hold on my friends because they'd tried to protect me from its evil. Sharing in its handling had exposed them to its malevolence, and that darkness had spread over time, extending unholy tethers through every aspect of their lives and sinking into the cracks of their souls to unearth pain and weakness, generating fear and hatred. Causing collateral damage.

Draco...

God, it was all my fault! Hot tears scalded my cheeks as they fell, and I cried then as I hadn't since the end of the war.

A warm hand smoothed over my shoulder and squeezed, offering comfort. "Not everyone is as obvious as Bellatrix when they go mad, Potter, and it's hard to see or admit to it when it afflicts those close to us. I never believed my father mad, but he was. Just a bit."

"I can't even look at you right now. I feel like... this is all my fault." A sob hitched in my chest. "Christ, Draco, why didn't I look for you sooner? That's my job, damn it all to Hell! Why didn't I try to find you?"

The hand fell away. "Don't you dare feel responsible or sorry for me," he growled.

I wiped at the snot running from my nose. "Well, I do, like it or not!"

Malfoy was silent for a good, long minute, and I wanted to turn around and face him, to see what he was feeling. My Gryffindor heart failed me, though, so I contented myself with checking his reflection in the mirror. He was looking at the floor again, the dark circles under his eyes deeper, the strain lines around his frowning lips making him look older than his thirty years.

Jesus, we weren't even in our third decade of life, and the both of us had seen enough pain, terror, and sorrow for ten lifetimes, hadn't we? No wonder he looked so tired. I wondered if I looked the same through his eyes.

With a resigned sigh, he turned away, but paused in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, looking over his shoulder at me. "Yeah, well, I guess you wouldn't be  _you_  if you didn't think the whole world was yours to protect. Bloody hero complex," he said in a thoughtful, quiet voice before heading down the hallway back towards the bedroom.

And he was right. God help me, he was right.


	4. Chapter 4

I knocked at Hermione's door, knowing Ron would be at work at this time of the day and that she and I could talk without worrying about him overhearing. It took three attempts before the door opened a crack and her face appeared in the centre.

"Harry," she greeted, sounding surprised... and nervous. "Um, now's not a good time. I was just in the middle of... cleaning the bathtub." She stalled, dropped her eyes, and it was obvious she was lying.

"Hermione," I said in as gentle a voice as I could, "I  _know._  I know about Ron."

Her gaze flew back to mine, widened with fear.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I have to-"

She began closing the door between us. I wasn't going to have that. I lodged my steel-toed boot in the crack, preventing it from shutting.

"I found him," I said, my voice raised just a bit to make it clear I wasn't going to be pushed away. "I found Draco Malfoy."

The resistance to my attempts to force the door open quite suddenly stopped.

"'Mione, I know everything about the two of you. And I know Ron's part in it all. Open the door, and let's talk about it."

It took no more persuasion on my part to get Hermione to concede. The fight in her just seemed to give out, like a balloon deflating as all its air was let out at once, and she simply gave up. The force resisting my weight against the door went slack, so I pushed the portal open... and saw the evidence I'd dreaded clearly marking the side of her face and confirming my worst suspicions. A purpling bruise approximately the size of a man's fist bloomed across her lower right jaw.

Ron, I knew, was a southpaw and had a hell of a left hook.

Locking the door behind me and bespelling it for privacy with a simple wave of my wand, I confronted her on the injury. "That's from him, isn't it? Ron hit you, didn't he?"

Her eyes dropped to the floor, and I saw it then, her brokenness, just as Draco predicted I would. It flashed across her face as a stark terror that paled her cheeks and caused her to cringe. She folded her arms about her middle and hunched in on herself, backing away.

"It was... my fault," she hastily explained. "I made his eggs the wrong way. He always prefers them lightly scrambled so that they're nice and soft, but I left them on the stove a little longer than usual, and they were dry. I tried to hide it by salting them a bit more, but that made him angry. He said I shouldn't cover up my mistakes, because it only made them worse. He was right, of course. It was a foolish thing to do." Her eyes suddenly grew distant and her voice so soft I could barely hear it. "Just like back then. He loved me, and I... I hurt him with Draco. I deceived him. I tried to fix the mistake then, too, but... you can't put right cheating on your fiancé, can you?"

My anger at her defence of what had been done to her was a dark, roiling pit of barely-contained hostility in my belly, and I fought back the frustrated howl that threatened to leave my lips, knowing how things would now play out between us. This, right here, was a textbook example of classic Battered Person Syndrome: Hermione's false belief that she'd been responsible for triggering Ron's violence, and that she deserved the resulting abuse as punishment. I recognized it from my dozen years in the service of dark wizarding catching, especially among the wives of former Death Eaters. From my experience, the outcome of our confrontation would now be as inevitable as it had been for those other witches: a quarrel as I challenged her, her resistance, an escalated argument, and finally her acceptance of my logic and a moving breakdown. Either that or she'd stubbornly oppose the facts...

...in which case I'd have to forcibly remove her from her home and keep her locked away in mine until Ron's unholy influence over her emotions went away. I was prepared to do that, too, if it came to it, and to hell with the legalities.

I shored up my courage, kept my voice neutral, and spoke very firmly when I said, "I'm speaking to you now not only as your friend, 'Mione, but as an Auror who works everyday within the law. Please listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you, and trust in my long years of expertise: there is  _never_  an excuse for domestic violence. Not ever. You can't justify this type of assault. What Ron did to you and to Malfoy years ago was wrong. What Ron has been doing to you since is also wrong. It is  _criminal behaviour_. He's manipulated you to control you, twisting your guilt around and is using it to his advantage to keep you under his thumb. That's common in spousal abuse cases such as yours."

I stepped towards her, wanting to take her into my arms to hold her close, or maybe to shake some sense into her. I wasn't sure which. I only knew I wanted to do both so badly that my back teeth ached with the need. She backpedalled as quickly as she could, however, trying to maintain a distance between us, fear strapping her features and glazing her eyes.

I wanted to snarl with frustration, my patience slipping away in the face of my best friend's terror. "Look at what he's made you into," I accused. "You used to be fearless, Hermione. What happened to you? What happened to the girl I once knew who chased a Basilisk, and who faced down the Ministry's High Inquisitor, the darkest wizard of our times, and an army of genocidal monsters without so much as a quiver in her chin? What happened to the girl with dreams of helping house-elves be free, who travelled back through time to help an innocent man escape death, and who wanted to run for Minister someday? What happened to your Gryffindor heart, Hermione?"

I was angry now, shaking from head to toe, my voice strained from the effort of holding back my temper. "He's broken you. Don't you see? Ron has broken you down until those things don't exist anymore, all so he can own your every action and thought. You're nothing more than a... a doll to him, his own personal toy that he can abuse and ruin as he sees fit. That is _evil_ , Hermione. What he's done to you is evil."

Putting a finger to her lips, she shushed him. "No, don't say that. If he hears you..."

I quickly turned all of my senses outward, seeking the presence of another person in the house. No sounds aside from my own heartbeat and Hermione's rapid breathing met my ears, however, and my magical energies encountered no one else but us.

"He's not here right now, is he?" I asked, assessing her expression for any telltale signs of lying, just in case.

She shook her head. "No, but he could come back. He sometimes does that, comes back at odd hours."

"To make sure you're home and doing what you're supposed to do – what he expects you to do, you mean," I growled.

Her gaze dropped to the floor again. "Harry, you don't understand. I want to make him happy."

"Do you?" I demanded, stepping towards her again. "Or are you really just afraid of what will happen if you disappoint him again?"

It was the breakthrough question, and I knew it by the way her lids flared, her pupils blew wide, and she staggered back against the wall. It didn't seem possible that her face could get any paler, but somehow it did, sheeting white. I'd finally reached her with the truth.

"Oh, God. Harry..." Tears welled in her eyes, and she slapped her hands over them to hide. "Harry... help me."

I closed the distance between us and took her into my arms, cradling her close to my heart. She sobbed so hard I thought her spine would snap from the tension within her. When her knees gave out, I lifted her into my arms with very little effort - _Jesus, she couldn't weigh more than seven stone!_ \- carrying her too-thin body over to the sofa, and sat with her in my lap. Her tears continued to stain my shirt, and her repeated whisper of, "I'm sorry," tore at my soul as I held her in silence.

Long minutes later, when she'd finally fallen into a quiet exhaustion, her whole body went limp with defeat, and I couldn't help but notice that she really was like a Barbie doll then, all impossibly slim with sharp joints and threadlike limbs. I could feel her ribs prominent and severe under my hand as it rested on her torso, and knew she'd been starved for more than love. Controlling the intake of food was another classic abuser tactic that it seemed Ron had utilized to keep Hermione too weak to fight back.

"I'm sorry I didn't see it until now," I whispered, kissing her temple. "'Mione, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Harry. It's hard enough for me to admit..." She choked over her words. "It's not your fault."

Her forgiveness was easy for her to give, as she'd always had a generous, sweet soul, but more difficult for me to accept, because of my guilt.

The truth was, I should have seen what was going on right under my nose years ago when my two best friends changed, but I'd been too wrapped up in bringing down vengeance upon the heads of those who'd been corrupted by dark magic to see it camped out in my own backyard. And there was no longer any doubt in my mind that I  _was_  dealing with a lingering shadow of the locket horcrux, because I recognized that barely discernible, whispering voice deep within me now, too. Once the idea occurred to me that Voldemort's black magic might be unduly influencing me, it was as if the volume level on a radio began slowly turning up, making the lyrics of the song easier to hear.

Right now, it was suggesting some pretty sick things in regards to taking advantage of Hermione's vulnerabilities.

Doing my best to ignore its low-pitched, hissing attempts at persuasion, I suggested to Hermione that we pack her bags, taking everything she valued out of the home, and head back to my place where she could temporarily stay until I could find her safer accommodations. I explained to her that Malfoy was staying with me as well as a protected ward as a result of this case, and asked if it would be too difficult for her to be there at the same time. "I can always move him to an Auror safe house, if you need me to."

It took her a long, silent moment to make up her mind. "We're going to have to see each other again, won't we?"

"Yes, you will."

She leaned her head back on my shoulder to meet my eye. "What really happened to him? Ron said Draco told him that he didn't want 'damaged goods' after that day in Hogsmeade, when... when..."

"When Ron raped you," I murmured, trying to keep my anger at that under wraps.

Hermione nodded. "But Draco wouldn't have said that, Harry. W-we loved each other." She wiped at a fresh batch of tears and choked over a sob. "I never believed he'd walked away on his own. I'd thought... I've always believed Ron... k-killed him. I was so afraid it was true, especially after... he'd h-hurt me."

"Why didn't you tell me then? Or Professor McGonagall? Do anything, but stay with him?"

Turning her cheek, she cried into my shoulder again. "B-because he said he was s-sorry, but that I'd driven him to it. If I hadn't c-cheated, none of it would have happened. He told me it was my f-fault, and... and Harry, he was right. I made him angry! I hurt him! I shouldn't have done that."

"Hermione, no," I reiterated. "There's no excuse for hurting you the way he did, no matter what led up to it."

She shuddered in my arms. "I think... I think I'm going insane. I feel so torn. A part of me hears you and knows you're right, but there's another side that talks to me, tells me I've deserved it all, and that I'm guilty and should be punished."

I swallowed with anxiety, putting together her inference. "Is it a sort of hissing voice in the back of your head? Really soft at first, making suggestions?"

Pulling back, she looked me in the eye and nodded. "I... I thought it was my conscience in the beginning, but after all these years..." She shook from head to toe. "Harry, I've gone mad, haven't I? I'm not sane anymore. I've a split personality. That's why this is happening to me, isn't it?" She fisted the lapels of my robes and pulled them. "I'm sick. I need help. Please, help me, Harry!"

She started sobbing again, and I could see how very lost she'd become because of the darkness within her that had taken over. It had eaten away at her dignity and pride over the last dozen years, until she was this... a shell of the witch I'd once known.

Tears filled my eyes, then. I tossed my glasses onto the cushion beside me, and hugged Hermione with all I was worth, rocking her back and forth like a small child. Now I was the one repeating, "I'm sorry," over and over again until my voice broke.

Two hours later, we had Hermione packed and ready to go. By that time, she knew the truncated version of Malfoy's story, my belief in the influence of the horcrux upon us all, and my intentions to stop Ron, no matter what it took. Just before we'd Disapparated away, we'd agreed to find a way to overcome Voldemort's lingering influence in our lives, and I saw a little of the old Hermione back in the resolve that darkened her honey-brown eyes.

**...**

Malfoy was coming out of the kitchen when Hermione and I stepped through my front door. The instant he saw my best friend, he went completely still. Between one blink and the next, he became a pale statue.

"This is the safest place for her to be right now," I explained, knowing I'd expressly ignored his pleading for her not to see him or know of his fate. "I'll explain later," I promised him, knowing he was going to want a really good justification for my decision.

Very slowly, I watched Draco dip his head once in agreement.

Next to me, Hermione was trembling, her attention completely focused on the blond wizard at the end of the hall. Her eyes were slightly flared, as if she feared believing that what she was seeing was real.

I took her hand and pulled her forward. She followed with no resistance. "Let's get you settled, and then I'll change the wards around the place."

Draco backpedalled, giving us plenty of room as we went past him and down the hall towards the back of the flat. His gaze was locked on Hermione like a man in the desert wondering if the oasis before him was real or a mirage. He didn't say a single word as I directed her into my bedroom and laid her bag on the bed.

"You can clean-up if you want through there," I indicated the bathroom directly across the hall, realizing with some measure of astonishment that she'd never actually seen my flat before. I called her my best friend _,_ and she'd never even been in my home. That thought nearly sent me into another round of self-flagellation. "Or if you're tired, you can rest." I waved a hand at the messy bed. Malfoy had obviously been sleeping in it not long ago. "Maybe once it's made, I mean. Um, I can order take-away, too, if you're hungry instead. Nearby, there's Chinese, and a really great curry shoppe, and-"

"Thank you, Harry," she interrupted, taking a deep breath. "I'm going to take a shower, if you don't mind. It's been... a long day." She paused, seeming to reconsider her words. "A long twelve years, actually."

"Uh, sure. Sure, that's fine," I said, rushing to the linen closet to get her a towel. "Left for hot, right for cold. I'm just going to-" I passed her the towel and pointed to the door. Hermione nodded and I left.

The minute I was in the kitchen, Draco confronted me.

"I asked for only one thing, Potter. Why would you do this?"

As I opened my fridge and grabbed a Muggle beer, I explained, "My flat has some of the strongest wards on it outside of Hogwarts. I've always made sure of it after the war, because are still too many fanatics out there who would like to see me dead." I reached for the bottle opener and cracked the top off my beer. As I leaned against the counter, I stared into those steely-grey eyes, so full of directed anger. "Ron will look for her once he realizes she's left him. He'll go to her parents' house first, and then to the house I gave Ginny in the divorce. Once she tells him no one in their family knows where she is, he'll come to me. There's no way I'm letting him near 'Mione or you; her because I'm afraid of him influencing her into going back to him, and you because I know you'll kill him. Or try to. Without a wand, he'll most likely kill you instead. I'd rather he didn't."

A look of incredulity passed over Draco's face. "You don't honestly mean to tell me that you're going to try to talk to him about what he's done?" Fury stained his normally pallid cheekbones a dark, cherry red. "So help me to God, Potter, if you try to save him from this-"

I cut him off before he could even finish that thought. "No. He's going to be taken into custody. His memories will be probed, he'll be given Veritaserum, and he'll be checked for the influence of dark magic - the standard criminal arrest protocol."

I knew Malfoy's intent even before he opened his mouth: he was going to ask why I just didn't kill Ron and get it over with. I cut him off at the pass, as it were.

"Don't speak. Don't even suggest it," I warned. "I'm an Auror in the middle of a criminal investigation. I'll be called to testify about all of this, and my memories will be subjected to a Pensieve probe. It's better to keep your thoughts about Ron and his fate as an internal monologue from this point forward."

I took a swig of the beer, feeling the cool liquid glide down my throat. It helped soothe my frazzled nerves.

"And to finish answering your question: she's going to be a part of that investigation, too, and it would eventually come out that I was tipped off to Ron's abuse through your accusation of his part in her rape. There was no way from the moment I laid eyes on you that you two wouldn't have to come into contact again someday. You had to have known it was inevitable."

Malfoy looked like I'd just kicked his favourite Kneazle, but I shrugged off the guilt of throwing him into such an uncomfortable position, not needing to feel that burden on top of the stacked layers of responsibility I was currently struggling to maintain. What was done was done.

"Now, if you're not comfortable staying in the same house as her, I can arrange for you to stay at a level-one Auror safe house with round-the-clock protection," I offered. "I'll even set up the wards myself. However, I won't release Hermione from my custody without a legal injunction  _and_  the promise from the court that she'll be held under the highest security protocols available for safeguarding a witness. There's no way I'm letting her out of my sight without guarantees in place from the people with the power."

Draco's expression shifted. Now he looked like he wanted to argue, to snarl, or even to scream at me. Instead, he showed a remarkable amount of restraint and merely clamped his mouth shut, clenched his fists, and silently shook with fury.

We stared at each other in silence as I continued to finish off the beer, giving him time to cool down and to understand that I wasn't going to apologize for doing what had to be done. No matter how painful this journey would be for the three of us, we were now all bound by fate to see its conclusion through, and I intended to do my damndest to assure both of my charges were kept safe.

"Overly-protective arsehole," he finally growled.

"Yeah," I replied without apology. "That's me."

My new roommate lost all of his bluster then. He looked over his shoulder in the direction where we could both hear Hermione crying in the shower instead.

I steeled my spine and swallowed my pride when I pushed, "Go to her. She... needs you."

"She needs you more than me," Malfoy countered.

Firmly, I shook my head. "I can't give her what you can. She's... my best friend."

He snorted at that. "Potter, you're fooling no one. The second I saw her walk through that door at your side, the look on your face... Granger's why it didn't work with the She-Weasel. I know.  _You_ know. Quit lying to yourself."

I tossed my beer bottle in the recycling, holding back the surge of feelings in my chest. "Quit stalling," I threw back at him. "Go be with her. Godric knows, you both need it."

He paused in the doorway, leaned his head back against the wood and stared at the ceiling. By the indecision etched into his features, I knew he was struggling with what he wanted versus his inner fears and doubts.

"I'm... scared," he admitted in a small voice.

"So is she," I reminded him. "But that shouldn't stop you. Not when she needs you as she never has before."

I watched his courage slowly solidify, and when he launched himself away from the door jamb and hurried down the hall, I felt a piece of my heart die. Having lost Hermione to Ron so long ago had been a hurt I'd been able to cover up with happiness for my two best friends. Losing her to the man I'd once hated was almost intolerable. If it hadn't been for the fact I'd shared his memories with him, and had felt his abiding love for her as a real, solid fact, I'd have never suggested he go comfort her in the shower, knowing where that would lead.

I needed to get out of there. I couldn't be here when they... A painful knot swelled in my throat, watering my eyes.

Making sure I had my wand, I headed towards the door. As I turned the knob, I heard Hermione gasp Draco's name aloud, and his low groan in response echoed her sentiment. There was desperation, need, apology in the sounds that followed. My hand shook as I stepped out, locking the door behind me.

I spent an hour changing the wards around my place to keep out anyone but Hermione, Draco, and me, and then I went to the Ministry to report my suspicions to my superiors and to get an arrest warrant for Ronald Bilius Weasley.

**Author's Note:**

> Il Diavolo Dentro – Italian for "The Devil Inside". A real gay male's cruising club in Rome. Considered rather risqué even by those on the scene, as it encourages full nudity and orgy nights, and features three floors of offbeat sexual fantasy props and sets (i.e. a darkened labyrinth, a leather swing, a cage, glory holes, etc.).


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